Stolen Slavery
by juggernaut715
Summary: Bjorn is the grandson of a powerful wizard, but finds himself making a decision; die, or live as a slave to a man who can steal anyone and everyone's magic by ripping their heart out, including his grandfather. Warning; contains yaoi and rape. That said, there is a storyline. I don't typically write dark and rape-ish stories like this, so it's a treat for anyone interested. R&R.
1. Chapter 1

**Warning. This story contains rape, yaoi, and a whole lot of disturbing notions. If you have problems with any of those things, please leave now. **

**That said, it is not ****_totally_**** about rape and yaoi. **

**I wrote this kind of on a whim, and it wasn't going to originally be a creepy-as-fuck rape story. But it turned out that way. So, hopefully if you don't mind that stuff, you'll enjoy.**

**Also, this is not a type of story I typically write. Usually I write awesome stories of adventure...and stuff.**

**I have no revised this in the slightest. It is probably riddled with errors. Please, review and tell me where those errors are so I can fix them.**

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"_Good things start with good quotes. Unfortunately, the only good quotes in this world are the ones we make for ourselves. So, speak. Let your voice be heard. Don't dally, don't delay; you might as well start your 'good thing' today."_

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"Shut up, just shut up!" The old man barked, glaring at his grandson. _Sometimes I regret saying that statement. If only he understood there are sometimes when you ought to be quiet and __**listen**__, then he wouldn't be so irritating. _The small, effeminate figure of a boy next to the bed snapped his jaw shut and brought his knees up, huddling on the stool he sat upon.

"S-Sorry, _oyajii. _I just thought you might want to know about how charm magic…"

_And there he goes again,_ the old man moaned inside his head.

"Bjorn." The child cut off once again at his name, and the old man continued. "I am on my deathbed. This is a time at which you should only speak of important things. I am not interested in charm magic. I seek to reminisce-_cough-_ before I pass on." Bjorn hung his head and slumped on his stool, submitting to maintained silence. For three minutes, no words were spoken, no sounds were made except for the quiet coughs of an elderly man and the barking of the dog outside the house.

And then came light. A great flash of power burst through the wall, inches from the foot of the bed. The dog was no longer barking. Against the wishes of his body the old man was on his feet, fists raised and ready to fight whoever had the balls to attack his home.

"Old Man Marcus Findley." Drawled a slightly accented voice, sounding distinctly of the north region of Fiore. "I come to kill you, and any relatives in your house. Simple task; I got paid, I kill someone. But, before that, I'm going to steal your magic. It'll all be over if you just-" He dodged a beam of light brighter than anything he'd ever seen shooting past his shoulder. "Maybe not." He blinked, trying to regain his eyesight, but finding he couldn't. "Damn it."

"Bjorn, take the sword. Remember what I taught you. Don't come back."

"But-"

"Go! I will not tolerate your insolence when I am so close to death!" With a pained and muffled cry the child took off towards the foyer of the house where the sword was hanging on the wall. Marcus nodded when he heard the clunk of the heavy piece of metal hit the floor, confirmation his grandson was doing what he was told. He turned to face the intruder, who was cursing and slapping the sides of his head.

"What the fuck was that, old man?!" Despite his fists shaking and his legs quaking, Marcus maintained his stance and replied.

"A solar flare. You should know what my magic can do. You should also know it can't be stolen." In response, laughter. The man stopped slapping the sides of his head, threw his head back and let a harsh cackle escape his lips.

"Oh, can't be stolen?" The laughter cut off abruptly. "Nothing in this world can't be stolen, old man. I am the greatest thief there is, and _nothing_ will stop me from taking your magic." Despite his new blindness, the man charged forward with surprising accuracy and barreled straight into Marcus, bringing them both crashing into the bed and to the ground.

"_Oyaji!"_ Both heads glanced at the youth dragging a sword behind him, standing next to the bed with unrestrained horror on his face.

"Damn it, I said-"

"A relative? The grandson, of course." The intruder smirked, then turned to grin at the body below him. With one deft movement, his fist was through Marcus' chest, blood spitting out of his mouth as his heart was crushed between spindly fingers. "Well, with your magic, I doubt anything could stop me now." The man began to glow bright crimson as he stood up.

"But-but-" Bjorn stuttered, stepping back as the man loomed over him.

"That's right, sonny. This is your grandfather's magic. Except, except, it's _mine_ now." Another bout of laughter. "What are you doing?" He pointed at Bjorn, who was struggling to lift the sword into a ready stance. "You think you'll get me with that? Oh, that's funny." A slap of his hand and the sword was across the room, impaled in the wall. Bjorn stared at it, then turned back. The man was right in front of him, still glowing that same bright crimson hue, little tufts of color flowing off of him.

He couldn't help himself. Tears started streaming down his face as he leaned back against the wall. "M-Momma…" The man laughed once again, arms shooting out and pinning themselves to the wall on either side of Bjorn's head, effectively holding him in place unless he ducked and rolled out of these clutches.

"Momma? Gonna cry for momma? Awe…" A mocking pout. "I thought you were a big boy. You had such a great oversized toothpick in your hands just a second ago. But, now you have nothing. Nothing's stopping me, nothings to stop me from getting what I want. And at the moment…" His eyes swarmed over Bjorn's figure. "Well, let's say I'm feeling lustful, and even if you aren't female you look pretty enough for a substitute."

The implications of that statement made Bjorn's crying cut off abruptly and he stared wide eyed into the solid white orbs of the man in front of him. Blind, now, sure, but somehow still seeing. With a flurry of his hands, he was seeing _everything._ Bjorn tried to cover himself up, but his hands were now pinned to the wall above him.

"My, my, even if you grew up you'd probably be mistaken for a girl at every turn. I'm doing you a favor, that's what I'm doing. I'll fuck you, then kill you, and you won't ever have to deal with people thinking you're a girl. How's that sound?" A muffled protest came from Bjorn; a hand was clapped over his mouth, this second hand available because only one hand was pinning his wrists upon the wall above him. "Oh, it sounds good doesn't it? Yes it does. Alright, well, since there's a bed right here, I guess we'll get to it."

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Bjorn's quivering figure huddled in the corner of the room. The man lay in bed smoking a cigarette, grinning like a maniac.

"H-How-how could y-you?" Bjorn whispered, feeling pain spike up his spine for the umpteenth time that minute. He couldn't stop scrubbing his arms and he didn't want to; he felt tainted. Like he'd been bathed in filth, just, this disgusting feeling washing over him. He wanted to claw his eyes out, tear his skin off, somehow get rid of that terrible feeling in his rear end. He couldn't stop shaking. Why can't he stop shaking?

The man didn't hear the whisper. He just stared out the hole in the wall of the house. The forest outside was serene. This place was nearing the top of a mountain, but it was still warm. Nice weather year round. With a slight turning of his neck his magically-fixed vision focused on the scrumptious meal he'd just had in the corner of the room. The child was doing that whole 'peel off the unholy taint' ritual they always did. With a sigh, the man flicked his cigarette uncaringly to the floor and stood up, sheets falling off to reveal two things; his body, and the fact he was ready for a second round. But he didn't feel like it. Honestly, it'd been satisfying enough pounding the kid into the sheets the first time, if anything it was just his libido on overdrive because the kid was, to be honest, a delightful fuck. Another sigh, the man scratched his head.

"How do you want me to kill you?" The kid's trembling didn't stop, giving no sign the words had been heard. Two seconds passed and Bjorn was pinned to the wall again, caught like a deer in the headlights. "Brat. Listen to me when I speak, or I'll revoke my kindness." The kid spit in his face, and he couldn't help but smirk. "Still feisty? Hmm…" A loud thud, and a loud gasp for air. Bjorn fell to the floor, clutching his stomach. The man crouched and followed the lithe curves of the body before him.

"Right. So, how do you want me to kill you?" No response. "Kid, you're really trying my patience here."

"W-what does it matter!?" The kid snarled, pushing himself back to the wall, still clutching his stomach. Another sigh came from the man, and he fell back on his rump, becoming eye level with the kid before him.

"I'm going to be very blunt with you, kid. You were a good fuck, so, I'll be nice, and kill you however you like. Shall I give you some suggestions?" No response. "Well, I could slice you in half. I could decapitate you. I could shove my hand through your chest. I could-" He cut off, hearing the child mumble something. "What's that?"

"I don't want to die." The kid repeated, voice level, a serious look in his eyes as he glared at the man before him. The man tapped a finger on the floor.

"See, you don't have a choice. You can tell me any which way you want to die, though, and I'll make it happen. I could even sing as I do it, if that would please you."

"I don't want to die." The boy repeated, his determined expression faltering for a moment as he slumped against the wall, mouth hanging open slightly. Frowning, the man reached out and poked him, receiving a jerking upwards motion and obvious fear in the youth's eyes.

"Thought you fell asleep." He continued frowning. "You don't want to die." He scratched his chin, tiny stubble making scratch-scratching sounds as he did so. "Well…Usually, I would just ignore your request for life. But, I'm feeling generous. How about this, you come back to bed once more and I'll think about it." The horrified expression on Bjorn's face made him laugh. "Yes, you see, your pained moans are required for my thought process."

"N-No-"

"Oh, changed your mind? I can kill you now, if you want." The tone was dripping with acid. The kid flinched, then turned and looked away. He closed his eyes and let out a shuddering breath that made the man's throat hitch in his throat, knowing _exactly_ what the kid was going to say. This was one of those kids who just wanted to stay alive, and that meant they would do _anything_ to keep breathing.

"I-I'll do it." A grin sported itself, but the kid wasn't done yet. He looked back at the man before him and then looked down sharply at the floor, obviously ashamed for what was about to come. "Please, uh…" He coughed. "Be gentle."

"Oh, boy, I'll be gentle as I can be." With a yelp, the boy was yanked from the floor and tossed across the room to the bed. "I'll be so gentle you'll _scream._"


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow, you're still here? Perverts. Anyways, here's the second chapter.**

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"Hmm…You know, if it weren't for that thing between your legs, you really would be a chick. A looker, too, in a few years. What are you, fifteen? You couldn't be legal." The man looked down at the limp body next to him. "Oi, I asked you a question." He tapped the boy on the shoulder but got not response. "Really out, this time?" He sighed. "Perhaps doing it upside down was a bit much. Oh, well, can't be helped. It's decision making time." He hopped out of the bed, leaving the sheets behind as he swept up his clothing and adorned himself swiftly, then turned and eyed the boy in bed.

"You're the grandson of Marcus Findlay, and we all know great power is hereditary, even if the old man was barely hanging on at the end." The man frowned, rubbing his face. "I don't want you getting powerful on me if I let you live…plus, you won't really be living in the first place. What, you think I'll let you escape? No, no…you'll do well as my catamite. But I don't want you getting strong-oh, I know what to do." The man reached into the satchel on his hip, magically enhanced to store infinitely, and shoved his hand around for a few moments before pulling out a small leather loop. "Perfect."

He moved towards the bed and grabbed the boy, pulling him towards him to make the process easier. Still unconscious. Humming to himself, the man wrapped the collar around Bjorn's neck, the leather sealing itself into a solid belt with no visible clasp once the ends touched. A nasty little invention used for the slaves of a Dark Guild in southern Fiore, a particularly nasty one called Danish Surprise. Weird name, weirder members, and while the man wasn't a member he'd done enough business with them to acquire a device like this. The collar. Not just any self-sealing collar that could be worn by your local fetishist; this collar was attuned to a person when it was made, an unbreakable bond. That bond went to the man. With this bond the power, not actions, of the person the collar was on could be controlled. So, while the boy could still move however he liked, whatever power he gained could be nullified with a simple thought from the man looming over him. That, and the collar inhibited any _harmful_ hostile action towards the one who held the leash. That meant Bjorn could resist all he wanted, but could never truly attempt to hurt the man.

It was an invention that was illegal everywhere. Only twenty six had been made, and only sixteen had been used so far. Now, seventeen. The collar was an unbreakable bond, the leather burning itself into flesh and binding itself into the persons magic core through the arteries in the neck. Could it be removed?

No.

With a rough shaking the boy came to wake, and immediately scrambled, or attempted to scramble away from the man next to him. Instead, he ended up curling himself into the sheets like an egg roll. This roll was swiftly removed by one wave of the man's hand, sheets tugged off and tossed carelessly to the floor behind.

"Shut up, stay quiet." The man said, cutting off whatever words were about to spout out of that open mouth. The kid looked even more pathetic than before, and somehow that made him all the more attractive, more rape-able than before. "Let me explain to you what's going to happen now, kid." An audible gulp. "Feel your neck." The boy hesitated only a moment before reaching up and freezing solid when his fingers made contact with the thick leather band around his neck.

"W-what-"

"That's a collar. You don't want to die, right? So you'll live. As my slave." The boy's widening eyes made the man's heart flutter.

"N-No-"

"Would you rather I just kill you now?" Another flinch.

"No."

"Then don't protest your inevitable fate. First things first…" The man tapped his chin, eyeing up and down the boy in a pin-up position on the bed. "How old are you?" The boy blinked, but answered nonetheless.

"Fifteen."

"Whad'ya know, I was right. Never mind that, go, wash up. I'll be waiting for you here with clothes." The man crossed his arms and looked behind himself, out the hole in the wall. "A long journey back to town, that's for sure." He looked back for the boy, but he'd already darted out of the room to the shower. He could hear pained grunts as the boy struggled to move down the hallway, what with his rear end numb and all. "Hmm." The man resigned himself to wait and sat down on the bed, reaching into his bag for a book to read and pass the time.

Bjorn, on the other hand, was breathing heavily, straining to keep upright. He couldn't remember the hall to the shower being this long, not ever. His body ached all over, especially his nether regions. There several things about what had happened to him that made him want to puke. The most predominantly was the most obvious; he'd been raped. That was disgusting, in and of itself, at any point. But what made him really sick to his stomach, truly, truly want to shove a finger down his throat and heave for all it was worth was just plain horrible;

He'd cum harder than ever before during both of those bouts on the bed. He couldn't understand it. He was fifteen, he'd learned how to jerk his bacon, fiddle his diddle, masturbate, a while ago. He enjoyed his ejaculations, as any young man would, but he knew there something _wrong_ about getting off, especially getting off better than ever before, through rape. He'd never had his mind so utterly blown over, hazed as those six times in the past four hours.

"Why?" He asked to no one in particular. Stepping into the shower, he stared up at the water spout sticking out of the wall and nonchalantly rubbed his neck, feeling the leather binding there. "A slave, huh." He mused. That thought was even worse. That meant more, and more, and more of _that._ The man was scary enough already, let alone when he was feeling frisky. Only the grimmest of futures laid ahead for Bjorn in the clutches of that man, and yet, at the moment, he couldn't seem to care. He just _hurt._ Everything hurt, and he was in the shower, finally, he could scrub away that taint.

Have you ever felt cold water splash just above your tailbone after being fucked rigorously? It is a feeling of utmost pain and pleasure, one that had Bjorn's legs buckling and his entire body thrusting up against the tiled wall of the shower in an attempt to escape the stream of water. A lewd moan escaped his lips and he clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide, hoping that the man hadn't heard.

"Jeez." He murmured, when the water heated up and he began wiping himself down. "What the hell was that?"

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**Please review. **


	3. Chapter 3

A cough alerted the man of the new presence in the room. Of course, he was already aware that the boy had been standing outside the door for nearly twenty minutes whispering motivational phrases to himself, scared shitless to enter the room, but that didn't matter. The man glanced up from his book.

"You look good in a towel." He said, noncommittally as he stood and walked towards the boy, who flinched with every step taken in his direction.

"I don't-"

"Yes, you do." The man grinned, grabbed the towel and yanked it off. "But you look better without." He laughed, then double took, and then laughed more at the boy's face. "Oh, my, how red you've become. Flustered?" He continued laughing, tossing the towel back at the boy as he walked over to the bed and picked up the pile of clothes he'd selected from his satchel, tossing them to the boy as well. "Get dressed." He spun around and sat down on the bed, watching the boy as he pulled on a shirt far too large for him.

The sword was picked up and shoved into the satchel, the man disregarding whatever protests the boy made. "You can't even use it, and yet you want it? No, that's stupid, so, no."

As they stepped out of the hole in the wall and into the forest the man pointed a finger back towards the house and fired a powerful fire spell that lit it aflame. The expression on the boy's face made him snort. "What, you think you'll be coming back? Keep the place as a summer home? False, you'll never come here again. Now follow me, and stay quiet." No problem there. Bjorn couldn't speak even if he wanted to. The man was acting so nonchalant even as he ushered a slave to follow him who knows where, a slave who he'd raped twice just today, killed the grandfather of, and utterly humiliated.

But what really irked Bjorn was that one comment earlier, just after the man pulled the towel off him. _Oh, my, how red you've become._ That sentence made Bjorn want to tear his cheeks off for betraying his embarrassment. Why should he be embarrassed? The man bloody _raped_ him, if anything he should be fighting tooth and claw every step of the way. But he couldn't. He was tired, he wanted to sleep, and honestly, he couldn't see the point. Already he'd tried to punch the man as hard as he could in the leg as they walked out the hole in the wall, but he found he couldn't bring the force of the punch much above a light 'pomf.' The man laughed at his efforts and then thoroughly explained the collar's effects, all of which made Bjorn even _more_ disgusted.

Regardless, he had no choice in the matter. He didn't want to die, so, he would live under the dark cloak of the man in front of him.

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**Much obliged if you'd review.**


	4. Chapter 4

It was only after the third vigorous pounding of his rear end that Bjorn bothered to really _look_ at the man he was now bound to. He smoked cigarettes with long spindly fingers that made Bjorn shiver when they moved between his thighs. He was fit, physically, regardless of his smoking habits. Tall, at least six and a half feet. Numerous scars adorned his body, most prominently one across his stomach that looked like his entire upper body had been removed and then reattached. His short hair was a generic brown, and his stubble was growing fast enough that it could now be called an insignificant beard. And his eyes were totally white. The solar flare Bjorn's grandfather had shot off had that effect sometimes. Somehow the man had used magic to make his eyes work, even as he was blind. And, all in all, he looked like he was in his early twenties.

Though Bjorn was unaware of it, the man was examining him at the same time. _He really does look like a girl, oddly enough._ He thought, eyes roving over the boy's hips. Lithe would be the best term to describe him, but there was still a jutting out of the hips that made the man's tongue lick his lips. He was short for his age, perhaps only five and a quarter feet tall, but he didn't need height as a slave. The boy was brown haired as well, though it tinted red in candlelight. Though the hair was cut short it looked almost tom-boyish on such a feminine face. Eyes blue. There were, interestingly enough, a few scars on the boy's body, perhaps from training. There was something about this boy, though…When in the heat of passion he changed, a switch flipped, and that defiant and fearful expression on his face shifted to defiant, fearful, and horny. It was amusing enough to make the man cackle with glee that, only ten minutes ago, the boy had whimpered when his rear end became empty. Already the boy was getting accustomed to his role as a slave, already craving more of his master.

The man took another draft on his cigarette and let the smoke hiss out.

"Most of the shops are closed, now, so late at night." He glanced out the window. "I was hoping to get some fresh vegetables in town, but I guess I'll have to wait till tomorrow. Then we'll set off for the next town." No response from the boy. Flicking his cigarette, the man clapped his hands and the light of the inn's room went out. Ignoring the boy's struggling, the man wrapped an arm around and brought the boy tight to his chest like a teddy bear. "Good Night, slave."

For the next twenty minutes, Bjorn tried to strangle the man with his bare hands, but found no matter how hard he tried he could only gently pat the man's neck in a gentle massage. Once he heard "That feels nice…" he stopped and resigned himself to flip around and stare out the window, shuddering every time the man moved in his sleep. Those hands never seemed to stop, though. Even unconscious the man continued caressing what little curves Bjorn possessed, and it was more than unsettling Bjorn was popping a boner because of it. He tried to ignore it, and succeeded, forcing himself to go to sleep.

The next morning Bjorn woke with a start, feeling something long and hard press against his rear end. Before he could even voice his displeasure he was skewered, and a silent scream escaped his lips as the man began thrusting inwards and outwards like a machine. Gritting his teeth and clamping his eyes shut, Bjorn tried to bear it. He muttered a string of curses when the pain turned to pleasure, and couldn't help but groan when his prostate betrayed him and he came against his will. Not long after his second release, which he cursed even further at, the man pulled out and let out a stream of stickiness on Bjorn's back. Then he got up and walked to the bathroom, to get ready for the day. Bjorn just laid there in bed, feeling a lone tear flow down his face at his misfortune.

Wooden steps creaked as they moved down from the room's to the inn's pub on the first floor. Plenty of people sat in tables or at the bar, most of them not even rooming within the inn and simply coming for the food. Bjorn, wearing the same outfit as yesterday under a heavy burlap cloak, found that it was easier to walk than yesterday, spikes of pain only coming when he stretched his legs far too wide or if he sat down. Unfortunately, he had to sit down, as the man had patted the stool next to him at the bar.

"Excuse me, miss." He said, catching the attention of the barmaid. "A beer, and a glass of milk." She glanced at Bjorn, quirked an eye, shrugged, and went about her business. With two loud clunks, drinks were placed and money was passed. The man sipped his beer as he pushed the glass towards the boy. "Drink. Or I'll make you." The milk was gone within seconds. "Good. Miss," He caught the attention of the barmaid once more, "which way to the market?" She pointed and he thanked her for the drinks, walking away and letting Bjorn catch up behind.

The market was teeming with all sorts of riff raff, ranging from bums to one particularly loud nobleman.

"Out of my way, out of my way!" He shouted, his armed guards, six of them on either side, baring their weapons at anyone not moving from his path. Bjorn had been idly following the man when he bumped into said man's legs from behind.

"Nobleman Pascal the Fifth." The man drawled, grinning. Bjorn recognized that tone of voice, and stepped back out of fear. "Someone offered me a lot of money for your head."

Three minutes passed, and thirteen people died. The nobleman had his head removed and shoved into the man's satchel. Bjorn had watched the event with cynicism. Scary as he was in bed, the man was scary in a fight. No one else in the entire street had made any move against him, his aura was so frightening. That blood red crimson aura that made Bjorn's heart ache; his grandfather's magic. Sure, the magic had only been used once throughout the fight, the man's skills already useful enough to take care of most of the guards, but it was still a magic that made Bjorn hate him all the more. The man did not, however, come out of the fight unscathed.

"Boy, come here." He snapped, neck snapping sideways to glare back at the boy, who'd moved to the side of the street. Reluctant, but fearful, Bjorn darted forwards and was picked up with one hand, then tossed to the ground with a thud. "Patch me up, quickly. The rune knights will arrive within the hour, and I'd rather not deal with them." There was no fear in this man's voice, only simple displeasure at the thought of dealing with the rune knights. As though they were _pests._ The man's arm, the one that hadn't tossed Bjorn like a ragdoll, was bleeding from a large gash on the forearm. The man held out bandages in his good hand and was literally growling for the boy to hurry up. Which he did.

Taking bandages in hand, the boy pulled the sleeve of the man's jacket up and started wrapping the wound with as much precision as he could muster. As soon as it was tied off, the man stood up straight and began to walk away, letting Bjorn trail behind as though he _hadn't_ just stopped a rather painful wound from bleeding any further.

"Rino City should be northeast from here. Quicken your pace, boy."

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Please review


	5. Chapter 5

**I think I'm gonna go for two chapters a day. I dunno. Please, review-I've written up to a certain point, but beyond that depends on your support.**

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Having not acquired the vegetables from the market, instead opting to kill someone, both the man and Bjorn had grumbling stomachs growling in protest. Thankfully, the man knew how to forage, and managed to gather numerous berries and fruits to munch on as they made their way down a forest trail towards Rino City. He'd given Bjorn a large fruit and told him to eat it before _he_ did. Hungry as he was, Bjorn had no trouble stuffing his face.

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The market place of Rino City was different of that in the previous town; it was empty. Not a soul was to be seen, but the stalls were still stuffed with fresh food, as though the people had just taken a five minute break somewhere else, all together, at once, with no trace of them leaving except the fact they were absent. The man did not seem perturbed, simply gathering what food he desired and continuing through town as though nothing was wrong in the slightest.

"We're not stopping here." He said, simply.

"But I'm tired!" Bjorn moaned, causing the man to frown back at him. If Bjorn could continue, he would keep his trap shut. But truly, truly, he was falling asleep standing up.

"Well, if you want to stay in the town where everyone has mysteriously disappeared, then we will. I simply wish to progress in my travels, but, if you're too weak to continue, I guess we can stop. If you beg for it." The widening of the boy's eyes made the man toss his head back and laugh. "I didn't think you would. Now, shut up, and-" He heard a whisper. He stopped walking, felt the boy bump into his legs, and turned around. "What did you say?" The boy was staring down at the ground, clearly troubled.

"P-Please, can we stop for the night?"

"Oh, you're actually doing it?" The boy nodded. "Get on your knees and grovel." The boy obliged, lowering to the ground. He tried to repeat the question, but cut off at 'can,' when something rested itself on his forehead. His gaze floated upwards and upwards until the thing on his forehead came into sight, and his mouth fell open in shock.

"Wow, you opened your mouth without me asking. You must _really_ want to stop. Go on, grovel." He began sliding back and forth across Bjorn's forehead. "_Groooovellll."_

Giving a blowjob was an experience Bjorn would have rather never had have. It wasn't as bad as being pounded into the pillows from behind, but it was a whole new terrible experience. Spindly fingers curled around his head and forced him to take a cock down his throat again and again. When told to suck on the sack hanging beneath the man's shaft he protested, but eventually gave in out of tiredness. He was, truly, tired. He needed rest, as all fifteen year olds did. With one particularly hard shove down his throat, Bjorn felt the man release liquid heat down into his stomach. He could taste it on his lips after he pulled out, even after they'd gone to the inn and gotten into bed. Even as he felt the man slide in and out of his ass, he could still taste that salty, thick taste on his tongue.

To be the man's teddy bear once more was just as terrible as the first time, but Bjorn bore with it; he was too tired to argue or attempt to squirm out of the man's grasp. Sleep came and went and they awoke to thunder and rain outside. Cloaked in burlap and one of them walking with obvious discomfort, they continued onwards towards the next town.


	6. Chapter 6

**So, basically, the storyline won't really fit in with the synopsis of Fairy Tail until much later. I'm still trying to figure out how I'll work the two ideas together, but I haven't come up with anything conclusive. Here's to hoping**

**Please review-while I've written this story up to a point, continuing beyond that point depends on your support.**

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Nigel's Drop-Off wasn't much of a town. The place consisted of several shacks filled with impoverished souls down on their luck. The inn, or what closest resembled one, was run by an old portly man in a grease-stained white t-shirt. His beard was comparable to that of Santa Claus, but it was not white; it was a deep blue, and the same color as his eyes. He gave them a room without so much as holding his hands out for payment, and didn't seem to notice when the man forced Bjorn to give him another blowjob under the bar as he ate.

For three days they spent their time at Nigel's Drop-Off, and Bjorn had learned on the second day why it was called the 'drop-off.' Twenty feet from the end of the line of shacks was the cliff of a mountain, and a rudimentary elevator consisting of a trebuchet-like construction allowed passage down into the chasm. He gave plenty protest on the morning of the third day, when the man had decided they would go down.

"But-but-"

"But what, slave?" He snapped, white eyes blazing. "I am your master. I humor your curiosity by allowing you to question my destinations and methods everyday, but I do not have to. Nor do I have to answer, nor do I have to let you keep your lips, your tongue, or your teeth." The boy cowered, slapping both hands over his mouth, and the man's fearsome demeanor shifted to his regular aloof and creepy one. "Of course, I wouldn't do that; you're far too skilled with your mouth to get rid of it. Why, I'd almost say you _liked_ using those skills to the fullest."

Bjorn made no further inquiries, nor argued for the remainder of the day out of both anger and embarrassment. As the elevator floated lower and lower he growled mentally. In that brief moment of threatening the removal of his orifice he did, indeed, speculate that he would no longer be able to worship the spear between his self-entitled master's legs. If he thought he might _regret_ not being able to do so, he shoved those treacherous thoughts away before they could bloom; he hated it. He hated being a slave, he hated his master, he wanted to rip his heart out, choke him with his own intestines, rip out his teeth one by one and shove them into his eyes with painful precision…these were just a _few_ of the boy's violent and gruesome fantasies.

The bottom of the chasm was, to Bjorn's chagrin, filled with some monsters, some bandits, and some that doubled as both. A non-registered guild, The Magnificent Bread, they called themselves.

"I can see why they aren't registered, with a name like that." The man had quipped, using a derivative Ice-Make magic to slay several of the monster-bandits in one attack. The remainder were either torn apart by a crude imitation of Crash Magic, or burned alive by a blue wispy flame from his fingers. Bjorn followed behind his self-entitled master like a wounded puppy, stepping over smoldering and icicle-stuck corpse, whimpering all the way.

The Chasm did not have a city, village, town, and no civilized congregation other than the guild the man had just destroyed. With no chance for an inn, nor food besides that they already had in their packs, the man had pulled out a tent and made Bjorn set it up while he started a fire _without_ magic, something that made Bjorn raise his eyebrows into his hairline. For someone so thoroughly adept at using even the simplest of fire magics, it was odd to see him fiddling with a piece of flint and steel. When the tent was completed, and the fire started, the man pulled out several pieces of dried meat from his pouch and began cooking them on the tips of sticks over the fire.

"Boy." Bjorn straightened up, looking across the fire at his master, who was staring intently into the flames.

"Yes?"

"Come here." He flicked his finger in what could be called an enticing motion, but Bjorn wasn't feeling very 'enticed.' Nevertheless, for fear of punishment, he stood up and circled around the fire, standing next to where the man sat until he was pulled down onto his rear end, right next to the man. "Hmm…" The man hummed, still not bothering to look at Bjorn. "I'll start training you tomorrow."

"Training?" The boy said, blinking. Finally, the man's gaze shifted towards him.

"Yes. Training. To have a slave useless in combat is a useless slave. Sure, your prowess on top or underneath a mattress is great, but much of anything else you do is pathetic." The mention of the 'underneath a mattress' had Bjorn looking away, the heat of the fire not the only thing making his cheeks turn crimson. _One time,_ they'd done that, and it was not an event Bjorn would like to repeat. "I'll slacken the restraints on your collar, of course. You won't be able to harm me, so I'm not worried. I believe you'll be proficient in your grandfather's magic…but I intend to teach you other magic as well." Bjorn would have asked him what this 'other magic' was, but the man had turned back to the fire, and the expression on his face was not that of receiving questions.

For the entirety of the time Bjorn spent sitting there, and the time he spent eating the cured and now thoroughly roasted pork, Bjorn hadn't felt like a slave. It was almost…nice. No words were spoken, only the howling of a wolf in the distance keeping silence at bay. Of course, once dinner was over and it was time for bed, it was time for a daily up-the-ass fucking and screams of both terror, rage, anguish, agony, and, to Bjorn's utter embarrassment and further rage, _pleasure._


	7. Chapter 7

**So, here's the next bit. It's a bit convoluted, but I'll come back and fix it up later.**

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"Raise your hands." Bjorn did as he was told immediately, trying to ignore the cold that he felt on every part of his body.

"Why do I have to be naked, again?" He was not fearing punishment at the moment; his self-entitled master seemed to be in a good humor, and would probably answer any question asked without much insult.

"Ah, because I would like to admire the bodice of my slave as I teach it how to fight." Perhaps there would be no insult, but that didn't mean lecherous comments would not be made. Bjorn shuddered, both at the cold and the comment, and maintained the raised-hands-stance. His self-entitled master approached from behind, the rough cloak he wore to keep warm pressing against Bjorn's back, and gripped the boy's wrists. "Follow the motions, and practice them. You have nothing holding back your magic core at the moment." While Bjorn's left hand went upwards and to the left, his right went to downwards and to the right. Then, suddenly, his wrists slapped together and his arms jutted forwards, hands open like a flower.

(Its just like the fucking kamehameha, so yeah.)

"R-Right." The man stepped back, and Bjorn went through the motions again, and again, and again, over the course of an entire morning. By the end of it his arms were like jelly, and he hadn't even used any magical power to create the attack. A cloak was thrown over him, and he was sat down next to the fire to warm up.

"Do you know what your grandfather's magic was called?" The man asked, poking the fire with a stick to coddle the coals. Bjorn nodded, though he couldn't see it.

"Nebula. It was called Nebula magic."

"That's right. The solar flare is the simplest, and easiest to accomplish technique of his, well, technique. The motions of the solar flare are what you've been doing this entire morning. Now, we'll build some endurance, and then you'll try to put the magic into practice." The mentioning of 'endurance' made Bjorn shuffle as much as he could away from his self-entitled master. Endurance could be code for sex-for-a-long-time-without-breaks.

"W-What kind of endurance?" The man stopped poking the fire and turned, walked away. Curious, not to mention he would probably be ravaged for not following immediately, Bjorn hopped after him.

The chasm was not simply a large bowl in the earth; it was a large bowl in the earth with numerous plateaus and obelisk like stone towers that went more than a hundred feet upwards, with even large rocks hanging in the balance at the top of them, on the brink of crushing anyone below them with a slight change of wind. Currently, Bjorn was staring up at one of these towers of rock, the man next to him patting it with his hand.

"I think this'll do nicely." He turned to Bjorn. "Climb." Blunt, a command no doubt. Bjorn knew it was either do as he was told or get punished. If he failed, he would probably be punished as well. He mentally berated himself; _don't look at it like that, Bjorn, its not a guarantee he'll screw you if you mess up._ This was, of course, a lie. It was do or get fucked, or don't and get fucked anyways-but the latter might be more painful. So, with an audible gulp, Bjorn stepped forward, cloak hanging off his shoulders, and gripped what he assumed to be a reasonable handhold. It had been less than two minutes into the task that he cursed using his arms all morning.

Whenever Bjorn slipped, a rock broke, reached for something that wasn't there and lost his balance, he would be saved from a splattering death by a light gust of wind magic from his self-entitled master. Everything hurt. Everything plain _hurt._ But something was building up, deep in Bjorn's chest. Some power he'd never felt before. He knew what his grandfather's magic felt like, what it _would_ feel like if he used it, but this feeling was different. As he lost his grip for the twelfth time, only a quarter of the way up the tower, he grit his teeth, and in a sudden burst of both rage and energy accomplished something he didn't think he'd be able to do; with a vicious snarl, he embedded his fingers into the rock, making his _own_ handhold. The magical power in his core was flaring, and he released his hold on the rock with his other hand, holding it out open palms for a moment as a solid black whip coalesced into it. He swung it, with amazing accuracy, up at a distant hand hold, and pulled himself up, double time. Distantly, he recognized the sensation of his fingers being claws, and a tail flicking around in the air behind him.

"Ho?" The man's surprise was not heard by the boy currently using his newfound strength and out-of-nowhere-whip, which he did not fully comprehend, to climb and climb and climb. "Hmm…" The self-entitled master rubbed his stubbled chin in thought and pulled out a cigarette. "I recognize that magic. Surprising that _he'd_ be able to use it. More for the reason that he's…a…." He lit the cigarette, and narrowed his eyes up at the boy. "He."

A loud, but not at all manly nor menacing roar came from the top of the tower, where the boy stood, totally naked, arms held high and flexing as much as they could, proud of his accomplishment. Not a moment later, the cry cut off, and he fell backwards, unconscious.

"How is he using Succubus magic?"

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**Please, review. **


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